In Indian Mexico (1908) eBook

Reaching Cuaquitepec at five, we rode up to the town-house,
that the authorities might know that we had passed.
The place is small and dwindling; there are relatively
many ladinos, and few indians. They were
expecting us, and seemed disappointed at our refusal
to stop. The shell of the old church, almost
ready to fall, suggested past magnificence. The
little modern structure, at its side, is suited to
the present needs. We were vexed at the wanton
sacrifice of a great tree, which had stood near the
town-house, but whose giant trunk was prostrate, and
stripped of its branches. A man on foot showed
us the road beyond the town, and it was moonlight
before we reached Citala, where we planned to sleep.
Of the town itself, we know nothing. The old
church is decaying, but in its best days must have
been magnificent. The presidente was absent,
but his wife, an active, bustling intelligent ladino,
expected us, and did everything possible for our comfort.
Eggs, beans, tortillas and coffee made up the
supper. A room, containing a bed for me, and
petates on the floor for my companions, was
waiting. When a light was struck more than a dozen
great cockroaches were seen running over the wall,
none of them less than two inches and a half in length,
and of the most brilliant orange and dark brown.
In the morning, a fine chicken breakfast was promptly
ready, and the woman had summoned a cargador
to be ready for our starting. She said that in
this town there is a considerable indian population,
and that these Tzendals are tall and strongly-built,
in comparison with those of Cuaquitepec, and other
neighboring towns. She regretted that we could
not wait until her husband came, as she had sent him
word of our arrival, and was expecting him. We
assured her that she had done everything which he
could possibly have done, had he been present, and
that we should, with pleasure, report our satisfaction
to the jefe.

[Illustration: INDIAN CARRIERS RESTING]

[Illustration: DRIVING PIGS, NEAR CANCUC]

The cargador whom she supplied, was a comfort,
after the wretched sluggards whom we had lately had.
With our instruments upon his shoulders, he trotted,
like a faithful dog, directly at our side, from start
to finish, never showing the least weariness or sense
of burden. Both foot mozos and arrieros
through this district carry a mass of posole
with them on a journey. Unlike that which Eustasio
and his Zapotec companions carried, the mass here
is pure corn, white and moist, being kept wrapped
in fresh banana leaves; at every brook-side, a jicara
of fresh water is dipped, and a handful of posole
is squeezed up in it till thoroughly mixed, when it
is drunk. It tastes a little sour, and is refreshing.
At 11:15, we passed the bridge over the stream on
which Chilon is built, and a moment later drew up at
the town-house. Here we regretted that our serious